


A Winter Dream

by TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy



Category: Kingsman (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Harry is the man for the job, Hartcroft, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft is kind of a Kingsman, Mycroft needs protection, Oh no there's only one bed, Small Cottage, lots of snow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:57:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy/pseuds/TheUniverseIsRarelySoLazy
Summary: There's a threat to Mycroft's life. He needs to disappear until it's dealt with. Harry gets assigned to hide and protect him, so they spend a lot of time together...





	1. Chapter 1

“Mycroft Holmes?”

“Yes.”

“Who is Mycroft Holmes?”

“Exactly.”

Harry Hart raised an eyebrow at Arthur and crossed his legs as he leaned back in the chair. They had come together in the meeting room of the Kingsman on the evening of a very cold Thursday in January. Harry had been summoned on short notice from what should have been a week off in a cozy cottage on the southern coast of England. He was understandably irritated, but would never let that feeling get into the line of work. At least that’s what he told himself. Now, looking at the photo of a man he had never seen before in his life, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I take it there’s a reason I don’t know him then?”

“No need to be passive aggressive, Galahad. I am sorry to have cut your holiday short, if that counts,” Arthur said and grabbed a sheet of paper from the folder, which lay on the table between the two men, then passed it over.

“Sorry… I might just be a bit tired,” Harry replied and took off his glasses, massaged the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before examining the contents of the document.

Hm… So, Mycroft Holmes. Employed by the government. Okay. Some background information, education. Not much info, actually. Younger brother Sherlock Holmes. Wasn’t that the hat detective from the newspaper? Curious. Then his current work…

“What in the world…” Harry grabbed his glasses again and took a closer look, in fear of maybe having read something wrong. But the description of Mycroft Holmes current activities stayed the same, even when read through the frames.

“Long story short: Somehow someone from a certain European country wasn’t quite fond of Mr. Holmes’ meddling in their affairs – quite probably because it caused their organisation to disappear from the face of the Earth. This does happen and has happened before. But in this case we have solid evidence of a revenge scheme. Not against our country but specifically against Mr. Holmes,” Arthur explained. “He has to stay undercover until the whole thing has blown over. And not without protection.”

“And this is what I’m here for?”

“Precisely. You’re the best we have, Galahad. And England can not allow itself to lose Mycroft Holmes.”

Harry picked up the photo again. It showed said man standing outside a building, next to a big, black car. The man was a little younger than Harry, but certainly knew how to dress. He held himself upright with an air of superiority about him. And…

“Arthur. Is that a Kingsman umbrella?”

“I see your eyes are still sharp. Yes, it is. Before you ask: No, he isn’t one of us. But there is very, very little he doesn’t know of. The umbrella was a gift.”

“I see,” Harry mused and leaned his head to the side as he was sure he wouldn’t get any more detailed explanations. “So he knows everything about us, but I have never even heard his name.”

“That’s the way he prefers it. How most people prefer it – me included. But now the tables have turned, I’m afraid,” Arthur admitted with a sigh. “But don’t worry. You will get your vacation yet.”

Harry frowned.

“Undercover, you see? You will take Mr. Holmes to the cottage you have just arrived from and stay there with him until further notice. No one knows of his connection to the Kingsman, and you will travel through the shadows of the night. This should give us enough time to dispatch of any threat to his life.”

“And I get my well deserved holiday,” a low voice added as the door to the room opened. “If only to stop my assistant from pestering me about the need to relax from time to time.”

Harry looked up to see Mycroft entering the room. It took only a few seconds to size him up. Tall, on the slim side. Bespoke three piece suit (a warm and light grey color), brogues (black), a silk tie (simple knot, baby blue), matching pocket square and a silver pocket watch chain. Umbrella on one arm, just as Harry would carry it. In the twilight of the room the other man’s hair seemed a dark brown. Cold, calculating eyes met Harry’s as he completed his assessment, narrowing just so.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, silently judging and deducing. It was the first time in Harry’s life that he felt like he would lose the competition – if there even was one. Arthur noisily cleared his throat and brought them both back to reality.

“Mr. Holmes,” he said and raised from his chair, stepped around Harry and pulled out the one next to him. “Please.”

Mycroft curved his mouth into what seemed like a short, forced smile, nodded and slowly started to walk towards the other two men. Harry also rose from his place at the table to welcome him. He extended a hand, which Mycroft took immediately. The newcomers skin was still cold, as if he had only arrived recently after being exposed to the wintery air.

“Pleasure, Mr. Holmes. My name is…”

“Harold Hart. Galahad,” Mycroft completed. “I know, I read your file.”

“Then you know that I prefer Harry.”

“I’m not fond of shortened names, but I will indulge you, Harry.”

“Much obliged, Mr. Holmes.”

“Please. Mycroft will do. We will spend a lot of time together during the next days.”

“Quite.”

Mycroft nodded again and took a seat. As Harry and Arthur had done the same, the latter grabbed all documents and photos from the table and placed them neatly back into the folder, which he then placed in front of Harry.

“There is not much else to it. Keep undercover. Mr. Holmes is not to leave the house under any circumstances,” Arthur explained.

“Oh, don’t worry. It has been dreadful sneaking around the city as it is. I shall be glad to stay indoors,” Mycroft shrugged. “I despise leaving London, but the situation leaves me no choice.”

“There will be no communication between you and your office, Mr. Holmes. We can not risk the possibility of a tracing. I’m afraid you really have to take a vacation from work.”

Mycroft did a dramatic sigh and tapped his fingers on the table in a nervous gesture, looking back and forth between Arthur and Harry a few times. Then he smiled. “The general situation is rather calm at the moment. Still, there is a chance that England will fall during my absence.”

“You overestimate the influence one man can have, surely,” Harry laughed, but then he looked at Arthur, who just shook his head.

“You don’t know Mycroft Holmes,” Arthur said.

Harry turned around to also see Mycroft smile at him. The first genuine smile he saw on the man, but a little condescending nonetheless. From this distance he could see Mycroft’s stormy blue eyes shine, still observing him, almost making him feel like his thoughts were being read. It made him feel a bit uncomfortable, but somehow he couldn’t tear himself away.

“The car should be here, Galahad,” Arthur ripped him from his thoughts.

“Well, then, shall we depart?” Mycroft said and grabbed his umbrella,

“Yes,” Harry cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back to the reality of the moment. “Let’s move as long as it’s dark.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I refuse. That is a crime.”

Mycroft stood in a back room of the Kingsman shop, next to two, rather large luggage pieces. He donned a long, black coat and wrapped a thick, fluffy scarf around his neck, which obscured his face up to the eyes. From the pocket of the coat, he pulled a pair of leather gloves, which completed the outfit. They perfectly match his brogues, Harry thought, before coming back to the matter at hand.

“You will wear it. At least until we are out of town with the car,” Harry demanded and held out the woollen cap once more.

“I would rather be shot than seen wearing this,” the younger man huffed, but reluctantly reached for the abomination that was a wintery cap… almost a bonnet.

Harry had to grin. “On any other day, you may choose to wear whatever you like. Today, you will wear the cap, and you will pull it into your face – at least until we are clear of London.”

Not waiting for Mycroft’s answer, Harry grabbed the two suitcases and walked out of the door. He could see the same car he had arrived in, but this time without a driver. His own luggage would still be in the boot, where he left it. Been called out of his holiday, Harry had assumed it was over and brought his things with him. Even though he now returned there on an assignment, he was still relieved to somehow continue his holiday. He would be even more relieved, he thought, if he knew exactly who it was that he’d be sharing the next days with. Only time would tell…

After Harry had loaded up the suitcases he rubbed his fingers together for some warmth and turned around. Mycroft was taking his sweet time… After a few more moments in the chilly winter air, he decided to fetch the other man and nearly ran into him as Mycroft exited the building. He received a grumbling noise from under the cap as response. Harry had to grin again.

“Glad to see you came to your senses. Please enter the car. I will drive.”

“No driver then. Alright. Where are we going?”

“I prefer not to say out loud. You will see.”

Mycroft nodded and entered the car as prompted. So he can take orders, the Kingsman thought. Thank god. That would’ve been a tiring few days if the other man would refuse to listen entirely. But I’ve got the feeling that it won’t be exactly easy, either, Harry thought and sighed inwardly. He trusted Arthur’s assessment of the situation and didn’t really expect anyone coming after them, but if they did, he would have to trust Mycroft to follow his instructions.

The streets of London were all but deserted at this time of the night. It was a weekday and no one was keen on driving in the snow on top of that. Slowly making their way through the town, the two men eyed their surroundings attentively and sat in silence. Mycroft was pleased to see that no CCTV was actively tracking them, which meant that his people were following orders of not observing, lest they gave his position away.

After about twenty minutes, they were clear of London city and drove through the empty streets of the suburbs. A thick layer of snow made the world seem like it was removed from reality, objects and outlines hidden from view in the uniform whiteness. While Harry had his eyes on the road, Mycroft had put his seat as far back as he could and slumped into the chair in a way that you could only barely make out his eyes under all the clothes. A casual glance at the car in the dark wouldn’t even make the form out as human.

From his hiding place, he eyed Harry with interest. He was going to spend some days with this man and found himself wondering about the individual behind the file (which he had read before showing up to this whole stunt, of course). What had immediately struck him upon meeting Harry was a sort of… softness about the man, which wasn’t apparent from his photos. Mycroft knew about the Kingsman organisation. He knew what they did as daily business. One really needed both sides to keep their country out of trouble – his meddling in political affairs and the legwork of the Kingsman agents. So it was a small surprise to him to be assigned a bodyguard so very obviously warm and human – especially since he’d been told that he was the best there is.

“I was a candidate for the Kingsman once,” Mycroft said into the silence, a while into the drive.

Much to Harry’s credit, the car didn’t even budge one inch from its path. “Is that so?”

“Made it to the final round, even.”

“And?”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“Ah,” Harry acknowledged.

Both were quiet again for a while. The car made its way down narrow and winding countryside roads, which were even more deserted than the towns. Sometimes Harry had to drive around piles of snow, which had fallen off low hanging branches. He took his time, and slowly but steadily brought them closer to their destination.

“You can take the hat off now,” Harry remarked after glancing at Mycroft when driving left at a junction.

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft nodded and reached for both hat and scarf. He kept his leather gloves on. “Sorry, I was… lost in thought, I guess. I haven’t visited Savile Row in a number of years. The Kingsman shop, I mean. I have another tailor in the same street, of course.”

Something makes me talk in short and incoherent sentences, Mycroft thought and scolded himself. Hopefully this doesn’t last.

“But you’re still basically doing the job of a Kingsman, just from another position.”

“Oh, yes. I…” Mycroft halted for a moment. Was he really going to tell this man part of his life story? But then he sighed. Better to be friendly with the individual who is probably going to have to protect your life at some point in the future. “I couldn’t let it go, you know? I hated myself for getting so attached to the dog. Caring really is not an advantage.”

Harry didn’t reply, so Mycroft continued.

“I made sure to reach a position in which I can assure a less frequent use of the Kingsman agents. Less messy business, fewer deaths. Not so many new recruits…”

“So you do care, after all,” Harry glanced at his passenger and smiled.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes a little. He had almost forgotten why he generally told no one of his history. But he didn’t manage his usual glare, the one which he shot Sherlock for his vitriolic comments. Instead he just sighed and let his head fall back against the seat.

“Name of your dog?”

Mycroft smiled at the obvious topic change of the conversation. Harry was quite observant.

“Redbeard. An irish setter.”

“Mr. Pickle, scottish terrier.”

And then Mycroft actually snorted a laugh. “Mr. Pickle?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I named him after my brother. The curly hair reminded me of him.”

“Your brother’s name is not Redbeard.”

“Of course not, but he wanted to be a pirate.”

No more words were spoken until the car arrived at the little cottage on top a cliff above the sea. The two men, who had entered the car as strangers now exited it feeling strangely at home with one another.


	3. Chapter 3

The cottage was small, even for regular standards. A lonely looking building at the end of a hidden road, set in the dip on a cliff right at the sea. Its location protected it from the worst of the wintry gale, but that also ensured that snow was piling up around it, where the wind couldn’t blow it away. In the middle of the night, during heavy snowfall, a bitter cold and no lights burning, it didn’t look all that inviting.

“Say it,” Harry challenged Mycroft while he opened the boot of the car.

Mycroft shrugged, the motion almost not visible underneath the thick coat and scarf, and indulged the other man. “Who takes a vacation at the sea in winter?”

“Someone who wants to absolutely make sure that he won’t be disturbed.”

“I can see that turned out very well,” Mycroft quipped.

“Shut up.”

Together, they carried their luggage to the door, which lay away from the sea and therefore leeward, which made the whole process a little bit easier. Harry had to remove his gloves to open the lock and shivered in the frosty air. A few minutes later, they had deposited the luggage inside the sitting room and closed the door to keep out the winter.

Mycroft attentively observed his surroundings, trying to take in as many details as he could in the dim, yellow light, which was barely bright enough to find your way around the room and didn’t reach in all corners. There was big sofa next to a low table, an armchair next to the window. All walls were full of shelves containing books and various items, ranging from decorative seashells to a rather modern stereo, which looked entirely out of place. There was little room to move around the furniture to reach the open kitchen, which was about half the size of the sitting room. The only sound came from the wind, howling along the cliff.

“There’s a bedroom through there,” Harry said while taking off his coat. “With an en-suite bathroom. It’s really not made for two people, but I guess we can manage for a while.”

Mycroft carefully hung his coat on a clothes hook, silently appreciating the fact that it was available. The scarf (and hideous cap) followed. Harry stepped next to Mycroft to also put away his clothes, as the other started to slowly remove his leather gloves. The Kingsman’s gaze lingered just a little bit too long on the slender fingers emerging from gloves and he narrowed his eyes slightly at the realisation. Mycroft had noticed - of course.

“So, that’s how this is going to work,” Harry said as he stepped back to the middle of the room. “The cottage belongs to me, and I am on my private vacation - alone. You will not leave it until instructed to do so, and all contact with the outside world will go through me. So if you have a message, I will get it relayed through the Kingsman. Likewise, if there’s any information for you, it will reach you through me.”

Mycroft nodded and bridged the distance to the armchair with a few steps. He watched Harry flip some switches in the fuse box and turn on the heating, as well as the water supply. When he had been called back, Harry had hastily prepared the cottage for his absence, but he was glad to see that the room hadn’t cooled down too much during the last hours. It was a bit chilly, but should warm up again quickly enough.

“Normally I wouldn’t bring anyone here, but your case seems to be a pretty special one, considering Arthur’s instructions. May I ask you to keep the location of the house confidential?”

“Of course,” Mycroft answered and took a seat in the armchair. It was fluffy to the point that he sank a few centimeters into the cushion when he sat down. “Frankly, I am very grateful for your cooperation on this. I can assure you that my usual methods are not so… messy.”

Harry nodded. “You are free to use the space as you see fit. While there are lots of books, I think you probably took some work along, so you won’t need them, but they are around in any case... Which leaves the accommodation. As there is only one bedroom, I will take the sofa for the time being.”

Gentleman spies is a description, which fits the Kingsman quite nicely, Mycroft thought. Even though Harry was the older between the two, he offered up his own bed for the client. Mycroft was actually quite relieved and knew better than to embarrass the other man by refusing and starting an argument, so he accepted with gratitude in his voice.

“Alright, I’ll let you get settled. We should really get some sleep – it’s almost 3 in the morning,” Harry said and felt himself getting more tired by the second, now that he realised how late (or early) it really was.

Mycroft nodded his approval, reluctantly got up from the fluffy armchair and pushed his luggage into the small bedroom. Before closing the door, he briefly turned around. “Thank you. Good night, Harry.”

“Mycroft.”

Harry sighed and dropped back onto the sofa as soon as Mycroft had closed the door. He could have fallen asleep like this, in that very moment, but there were still some vital steps to take before he could slip safely into the arms of Morpheus.

As a first order of business, he informed Merlin about his current status and asked him to put up satellite surveillance. He was to be informed of any movement from outsiders in a radius of two miles. The cottage was very remote, and there really shouldn’t be anyone at the sea at this time of year, so whoever made their way out here would have an agenda. He also turned on the motion sensors, a few hundred yards into the road, which lead to the cottage, so he would be informed of any car driving by. It was a plaything, which he had installed some years prior to avoid surprise visits from Merlin, who was one of the only people, who knew where Harry’s vacation retreat was, and tended to drop in unannounced. Now it actually came in handy for a good cause.

Harry then donned his coat again and braved the wintry winds once more to check on the status of the cottage. He even had to shovel some snow to make sure all entrances and windows to the little house were correctly locked and would at least prove a challenge to open. Once again he was glad to not have skimped on the renovation of his property.

Twenty minutes and a frozen nose later, he entered the house again, got out of his coat and locked the door for good. He made a mental check of his supplies and came to the conclusion that he would have to stock up the next day.

Exhausted, he fell into the armchair next to the window, drawing a thick blanket over his legs. He removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. In a wise moment, Harry had positioned a whiskey globe right next to the armchair and he now took advantage of the fact, pouring himself a generous amount of Talisker Storm, in a nod to the current weather. He then connected his his mobile phone to a power source and cranked up the volume, so he would hear any alarm even when sleeping, because he knew he had an important job to do. But damn, it was still his vacation, and he allowed himself this little indulgence.

The first sip burned in his throat, like it always did, even after years of enjoying the spirit. He inhaled the peaty aroma and let his head fall back with a deep sigh.

––

When Mycroft woke up in the morning, it was still snowing. Sunlight filtered through the clouds, but the whole world was dyed in a uniform white colour, making it almost impossible to distinguish any details. The ocean presented itself in a dark blue, almost black shine, waves crashing against each other, leaving white crowns of sea foam on the surface.

After spending a few minutes in the bathroom, he thought it polite to vacate the room, as there was only one in the little house. He chose a dark blue tweed suit and a matching light blue shirt, skipping a tie for once, and emerged from the room.

He was presented with an image he didn’t expect. Harry was still sitting in the armchair, head leaning against the headrest, the blanket over his legs. He was sleeping, breathing slowly and evenly. In his hand, on the armrest, was an empty glass, the other one clutched a mobile phone. The man was still wearing his clothes from the previous day, the top buttons of the shirt opened.

Mycroft cautiously stepped over to the window, being as quiet as he could, as to not wake Harry. He extracted the empty glass from the man’s hand and wanted to place it on the low table, but not before his curiosity got the better of him. With a quick sniff and glance at the selection in the globe, he determined the brand of whisky. Then he hesitated.

Looking down at the agent, Mycroft allowed himself to attentively observe all details for the first time. Even with the soft, brown eyes closed, there was a gentleness about the man, which contrasted everything Mycroft knew about the Kingsman. With his features relaxed in sleep, Harry seemed no more dangerous than your everyday man, but Mycroft knew what he was capable of. He was astonished to discover how relaxed he felt in this unfamiliar environment, just by having Harry present.

He also discovered again what he had briefly thought during the last night, and it sent a little shiver down his spine. Harry was definitely very attractive and unfortunately very much his type. Something, very far in the back of his head, did a little dance of joy at the fact that he would be spending a few days with this interesting man, but he knew better than to let whatever this was come to the surface.

Mycroft held the glass up to the light of the window and discovered a tiny sip of spirit left in it. After a cautious look down, to confirm that Harry was indeed still sleeping, he raised the glass to his lips and let the last drops flow into his mouth. Licking along the rim of the glass, he savoured the slight burn which spread on his tongue.

As he placed the glass on the table, he grinned, amused about his own childish actions and then turned around to proceed to the kitchen area, hoping to find some adequate tea for breakfast.


	4. Chapter 4

Currently residing in a British country cottage, Mycroft had no problem with finding the essentials for his morning tea. He pondered his options for a while before inspecting the rest of the very small kitchen area. In the diffused, white morning light filtering in through the small windows on the seaside of the cottage, it wasn’t easy to see into the back of all cupboards, but Mycroft found himself enjoying the atmosphere. He didn’t want to accidentally wake Harry, so he refrained from switching on any artificial light.

The water heater was quickly found and set up. Meticulously clean, he noticed. Rummaging through the rest of the cupboards as silently as possible, Mycroft found several tea mugs to choose from. He had to smile at himself, feeling somehow like a kid again, going through everything with curiosity. The wind still howled and battered the little house while Mycroft leaned back against the counter and inspected the mugs standing at the front.

Two of them were very obviously more heavily used than the others. He carefully lifted and placed them in the light, both hitting the hard counter surface without a sound. Mycroft then took his time to inspect both mugs, which actually looked quite similar at first glance, except one was crimson and the other off-white. After a while, he held each of them up to his nose and sniffed. Then he turned around, white mug in hand, grabbed a bag of Assam tea and placed both next to the water heater. The crimson mug went back into the cupboard, and Mycroft chose a lilac one for himself, which seemed barely used. He then took a bag of Darjeeling and turned on the water heater.

Having completed his tasks, he turned around, looking for something to occupy his time while waiting for the water to boil. His gaze fell on Harry again. The cottage was so small that he wasn’t more than a few feet away, which made Mycroft able to observe his features very well. The hand, which had previously clutched the whisky glass, now rested flatly on the armrest, otherwise the agent’s position had not changed at all.

Mycroft pondered waking Harry up, but decided against it. It had been a long night for both of them, and Harry obviously seemed to need his sleep. Not realising that he had been caught up in observing the Kingsman for quite a while, Mycroft was surprised by the very audible noise, which the water heater made as it's switch snapped back into starting position. Harry stirred from his sleep immediately.

He blinked into the morning light, first glanced at his phone, then at his empty hand, frowned, but then found the glass standing on the table and relaxed again. Mycroft had immediately turned away from the agent and was already steeping the tea bags. Harry audibly cleared his throat behind him.

“Good morning,” Mycroft said in the same moment as Harry opened his mouth to do the very same, catching him by surprise. “Tea?”

“Good morning. That would be lovely.”

Mycroft turned around, tea mugs in both hands. While he walked around the sofa, Harry straightened himself up in the armchair and removed the blanket from his legs. The phone was placed onto the table, next to the glass.

“Talisker Storm, very fitting,” Mycroft smiled as he put down the mugs – off-white for Harry and lilac for himself.

Much to Harry’s credit, he didn’t ask how Mycroft knew, just nodded his agreement. He shifted a little to lean forward and take the offered tea. But a sniff at its contents had him narrow his eyes, anyway.

"Impressive again," Harry gave a slight nod in acknowledgement. "Care to... elaborate?"

"I am not prone to show off."

"Oh, please. Why go through all the trouble in the first place, if you didn't want me to ask?"

Mycroft smirked. Of course that was why he had said it. It was partly out of habit, partly because he had to sate his curiosity, being in this new place, confronted with a new and interesting person. But in the end, it was his means to judge people's behaviour in reaction to his methods. Drawing them out. In that way he had always been more similar to Sherlock than he would ever admit. He was willing to indulge Harry, if only to see his reaction.

"Very well then," Mycroft said and slumped back into the sofa, then held up his own tea mug. "In contrast to this mug, there are only two others, which have been used on a regular basis. As you are the only one using this cottage, I can conclude that both mugs are yours... Please, don't look so confused. You told me yourself that this is your safe haven – a place where you won't be disturbed. Moving on... From the use of two different mugs I can see that you are an aficionado, but from the presence of only two types of tea in the house – in teabags, even – it's obvious that even tea lovers have their lazy days. You drink Assam from the off-white mug in the morning and Darjeeling from the red mug in the evening."

"Right on all accounts. Except... how do you know I use the white one in the morning?"

"Quite obvious, I'm afraid."

"Is that so?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Mornings are quicker than evenings. The mug is used, but not overly. The tea stains are minimal, which means that the mug gets cleaned rather quickly after use. The red one, on the other hand, has deeper stains that have sunken into the material. It is also losing paint at the bottom half, suggesting you keep it in your left hand for quite a while, most likely while you’re reading in the evenings."

Harry didn't say anything in return, just smiled, took a sip of tea and closed his eyes, relishing in the warmth of the liquid. Mycroft mimicked Harry's actions. They sat in companionable silence for a while, nursing the their respective mug.

Mycroft was left to ponder the situation. Here he was, well rested and relaxed, when just twelve hours ago, he had been on the run, ushered through secret passages throughout London, almost freezing to death. It surprised him just how comfortable he felt. Sure, he was used to receiving death threats and being surrounded by bodyguards. If that weren’t the case, he wouldn’t be doing his job correctly. Luckily, it didn’t happen all too often, as most operations were carried out deep undercover. But sometimes information slipped out of the net – and the repercussions were quickly dealt with. The current situation was highly irregular. Still, even after all the commotion and unusual activity, after the attempt on his life the previous day, here he was, and all of that was the last thing on his mind.

No, his thoughts were thoroughly occupied by the owner of the cottage, currently smiling to himself while browsing through his phone. Finding someone to enjoy mutual silence with is a rare occurrence, indeed. The Diogenes Club, with it’s enforced silence had always been a poor replacement and served only to calm your nerves by simulating the situation. Sharing silence with a proper partner, on the other hand, was entirely more enjoyable in Mycroft’s opinion. You had to have a certain level of confidence and ease to just say nothing. Only insecure idiots would try to fill these wonderful moments with random babbling. And Harry Hart seemed to be anything but.

“You are quite relaxed,” Mycroft opted to speak up, because the thought just wouldn’t disappear, entirely aware that this could actually put him in the ‘insecure idiot’ pile. “Are you so sure that the situation under control?”

Harry narrowed his eyes in a way that said ‘Who do you think I am?’ quite loudly. “There is little I can do myself right now. The house is under surveillance by my team and I will be informed of any irregularity as soon as it appears. I can assure you that anything bigger than a mouse approaching the house will be tracked.”

And there it was, suddenly clear as day. Even though Mycroft and Harry were pursuing the same goals, in the end their work and life were fundamentally different. The elder Holmes now realised why he had been having such difficulty to understand what had been bothering him from the first moment he had laid eyes on Harry. By nature of his job, Mycroft had always felt the need to be secretive and operate alone. Incidents like the current situation only helped to further this point of view. Anyone who was on a payroll was a liability in the end. Their loyalty only went as far as their paycheck.

But the Kingsman were different. Mycroft had learned this through his own training, back in the days. To be an agent, you had to be fiercely loyal. They worked as a team, extremely efficient, because they could always rely on each other. The realisation hit Mycroft harder than he was prepared for, as it made him realise the underlying pattern of so many of his actions. Was this the reason he tried to test the loyalty of Sherlock’s acquaintances? Was this the reason he preferred to take care of everything himself, as he could not find any person whom he could rely on in a way the Kingsman agents did on each other? 

And what about all that introspection? This was what happened when you took a break. Ghastly. How could Anthea even begin to propose a holiday when this was the result? Mycroft made a mental note to make sure his workload would prevent any exploration of his inner motivations in the near future. This was nothing he was comfortable with, even if it was only happening in his head.

“Right…” Harry disturbed Mycroft’s thoughts in a way that made clear there had been a long and awkward pause in their conversation, but didn’t make any further comment. Despite that, Mycroft felt his ears run hot. “I will have to pick up some supplies for the next days.”

Harry took a moment to check his phone, graciously giving Mycroft a few seconds to collect himself.

“You are not to leave the house. I shan’t be long. I don’t believe anything will happen in my absence – at least if the latest report from HQ is any indication.” 

While talking, Harry had brought whisky glass and tea mug to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He then turned around to eye the back of Mycroft’s head for a few seconds. 

“I believe I can leave you alone for an hour without you running off?”

“I am not a child you have to babysit,” Mycroft huffed. “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

Harry grinned. “Then I’ll freshen up a bit and be on my way. Wouldn’t do to leave the house in yesterday’s clothes.”

Mycroft watched the older man proceed into the bedroom and shook his head as soon as he was out of sight. A fond smile appeared on his face. Talking to someone he would consider his equal was not something that happened often. No matter the circumstances, he was starting to enjoy this.


	5. Chapter 5

As soon as Harry was out of the door, Mycroft was overcome by nervous energy. He was cut off from everything in his work and life, unable to perform, but his mind was still racing, annoying as it was. Rationally, he knew it would be best to use this moment to rest and recuperate from his stressful lifestyle, and he really did enjoy Harry’s company (which still surprised him), but the heart doesn’t always listen to the head. The late night had forced him to sleep and Harry had distracted him enough to not consciously think too much about his situation, but now he found himself in silence in a very small room.

He sat down in the armchair next to the window, as this seemed to relax him at least a bit. His eyes darted around the room, fingers nervously tapping on the armrests. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped him. This was the worst. Being cut off from all information and communication like this was like going into withdrawal. Who would decide anything when he wasn’t there? Who would see the important details? Who would enjoy this as much as Mycroft would?

He knew that the best thing to do right now was lie low. So he would. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to keep himself occupied. Mycroft jumped out of the chair in a fluid and vigorous motion that anyone would rather attribute to his brother than him and stepped over to the shelf to switch on the radio.

A stream of rock music welcomed him. He was momentarily confused, but then smiled to himself. It was never right to judge a book by its cover, and it seemed like Harry had a lot to hide under his gentlemanly spy armour. Not wanting to disturb anything – he was always a very considerate house guest – Mycroft let the radio continue to play classic rock. Dialling the volume up, he proceeded to closely inspect the rest of the items in the sitting area. That would keep him occupied. But more than that, it would keep him informed about his host, who he grew more curious about by the minute.

––

Harry was a rubbish host. At least he believed that to be true. Not that he had many past experiences to draw from, and any that could have helped lay too far in the past. Standing in the shop in the nearby town, he was suddenly aware that he hadn’t even asked Mycroft about his food preferences. Grumbling to himself, he chose a variety of standard products and a few of his own favourites to take back to the cottage.

The drive had cleared his mind a bit. Just the fact that he had felt so utterly comfortable with someone else in his home, had unnerved him quite a bit. It had been so long since he had shared his space like that – even though he was not doing it out of his free will at the moment. Only a few more days, he told himself while carrying the bags to the car. Not that he wasn’t used to impossible and improvised situations like this… It was just strange having someone he didn’t know in his home. Any other place might have been fine. Well, no use contemplating. Accepting facts and quickly moving on with them was one of Harry’s finer qualities.

Still, it might be nice to know more about Mycroft Holmes than what was written in his… rather thin file. Maybe he could find out a bit in the Kingsman archives, old mission reports… now that he knew what to look for. As Harry was driving along the cliffs, he decided to take a quick break, after checking the status of the cottage on his phone and saw no anomalies in any sensor readings. He pulled over at a small vantage point with no other people around and slumped back into the seat with a sigh as soon as the motor was turned off.

Grabbing the Kingsman glasses from his suit pocket, he was about to connect to the agent’s network, when a little symbol informed him of the fact that his feed from yesterday had been uploaded and stored completely, along with a little red dot, indicating that it was still recording. Huh, he had completely forgotten to turn off the recording feature. Must’ve been very tired indeed. Harry chided himself and turned off the feed. Luckily it only transmitted to his private terminal. On a whim, he decided to review the footage – maybe he could pick up some more clues about the mysterious man currently occupying his vacation home.

The movie started with the two of them leaving the Kingsman shop and driving back. Harry listened to their conversation in the car again and smiled when detecting how Mycroft’s voice grew soft when talking about his brother. When he reached the point where he took off the glasses and put them on top of the armrest, facing the room, he started fast forwarding through the night. The room grew darker before it got lighter, and as he caught movement in the footage, he slowed it down to normal speed.

Mycroft stepped out of the bedroom and looked around the space. He seemed more relaxed when not observed, moving more carefree, but not less elegantly. Harry found himself smile again, and even if it was highly inappropriate to keep watching Mycroft like that, he could not find it in himself to stop. But then he frowned when the man stepped over and took the empty whisky glass from Harry’s hand. Ah, so that was why he had found it on the table. Mycroft was courteous, even… wait...

Harry gasped softly when he saw Mycroft sniff at the glass and the raise it to his lips, his tongue darting out just barely visible, licking the rim. A strange feeling pooled in his stomach at the thought of having to face Mycroft again after seeing him like this, but the thrill of this voyeuristic act was stronger. And when Mycroft placed the glass on the table, grinning like the cat who got the cream, he had to laugh out loud. These were going to be some interesting days.

––

He found Mycroft sitting in his armchair with another mug of tea and a book, suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up and the radio playing Harry’s favourite station. It felt so domestic, he had to stifle another laugh, but opted for discreetly closing the door behind him and carrying the bags to the kitchen area instead.

“No problems making yourself feel at home, then?” he said in what he hoped to be a light and joking tone.

Mycroft looked up and smiled, then raised the mug in a toast. “None at all. Thank you again, Harry. It seemed like a really needed a break.”

“You talk like I invited you here. You are still in danger.”

“Hmm, it’s not like this is the first time this happened,” Mycroft said with a shrug and took a sip of tea. “It is the first time, though, when I’m not locked away in some sort of ridiculously disgusting underground shelter, though. So thank you all the same.”

“Mhm,” Harry nodded as Mycroft returned his attention to the book.

While Harry stashed the bought items, Mycroft sneaked one or two looks at him while he was turned away. Curiously, everything he had found in the cottage – even the dubious collection of pinned butterflies in his bedroom – had only endeared the man to him, and he hadn’t even known him for a day. The last time he had taken to another person so quickly had been a long ago, and he still considered Lestrade to be one of the most trustworthy people he knew. The way he grew fond of Harry by the minute was a remarkable occurrence, indeed.

“Another tea?” he heard Harry say. “Or something stronger?”

“Don’t you think it might be too early for that?”

“The way the storm is rolling in, it might already be dark in an hour. The sensors haven’t shown anything weird, and my people are tracking the suspects in London. Also, I’m still on vacation. I drink whenever I damn well please,” Harry laughed, hoping not to misjudge the atmosphere.

But the way Mycroft chuckled, closed the book, finger between the pages, and looked over to him, he figured that it had been the right thing to say. He turned to fill the water boiler anyway and took his evening tea cup from the cupboard, noticing that the other one had already been cleaned and put away.

“Still, I think I’ll start with something hot… it’s freezing out there and I need something to warm me up,” Harry said. “Sorry if I spoke out of line.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry. It’s actually refreshing to talk to someone like this. There are only a few people alive knowing the extent of the… things I deal with, and most wouldn’t be all that comfortable in my presence.”

“Believe me, I’ve had to deal with worse,” Harry laughed and fetched Mycroft’s mug from his hand to prepare the tea. He received a warm smile and a nod of gratitude when returning to the sitting area with the steaming liquid.

“You’ve had this escape house for long, then?” Mycroft asked, book now on the table, mug in his hands to warm his fingers up. He always hated his cold hands in winter. “Never brought anyone over? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”

“I don’t mind. A friend of mine sometimes drops in unannounced. He’s one of the two people, apart from me, who know this place exists. Well, three now, in fact.”

“The handler, who keeps you updated?”

Harry nodded. It was an obvious conclusion, but it took knowledge of the Kingsman’s internal structure to draw it correctly.

“I believe you’ve kept this place for roughly eight or nine years now,” Mycroft added quietly. “But you only come here in winter, when it’s certain that there will be no one around.”

“Nine years, yes. Explain.”

“The isolation and heating is too good for it to be just a summer retreat. The house has been fixed up, but only once – probably when you bought it nine years ago. The water heater in the bathroom is an old model from a company, who went out of business nine years ago, so their products would have been cheap for a year or so, until they weren’t available anymore. There are other signs, but listing them would be tedious.”

“Remarkable,” Harry shook his head in wonder. “You know my work requires a lot of investigation, and being able to see what you see would help me a lot.”

“You see them too, the signs, you just don’t notice them, don’t record them. It’s a curse, not a blessing.”

“I think it’s admirable. Tell me about the other clues.”

“It would only bore you.”

“I assure you it won’t. Besides, have we anything better to do?” Harry smiled, showing his teeth in the process, then took another sip of tea.

I can think of a few things, Mycroft thought, but decided to indulge the man, if only to not give away his thoughts on the matter.

“Why don’t we play a game, then? I tell you roughly where the clue is and you try to guess what it is. This way we shall both find a way to pass the time,” Mycroft mused.

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

As it grew dark and the stormy gales battered the little house, the atmosphere inside grew ever warmer, as the two man joked and played their little game.


	6. Chapter 6

What should have been a comfortable night's sleep was cut short by the resounding alarm tone Harry had assigned to the application in his phone, which notified him of any breach of the perimeter. He threw back the warm blanket and made a conscious effort to ignore the cold night air immediately assaulting his exposed skin, where the shirt had slipped during the night. He straightened it with one hand while grabbing his tablet with the other.

His fingerprint unlocked the screen and showed a satellite picture of the coast, cottage and surrounding area. A red circle indicated a car, which was currently driving up the only street leading to the cottage. The morning was still early, and even though the storm had dissipated, there were still clouds in the sky, which released a heavy amount of snow – all of which made it very hard to track the vehicle.

“Merlin. Who is it?” Harry had put on his glasses and opened a feed. No matter where his handler currently was, he knew he would answer the call.

“I am looking into it. Our marks haven’t left London during the night and are all accounted for. But there might be someone we don’t know about yet,” the Scot said with a voice still heavy from sleep, but determined nevertheless. “Prepare for engagement and take the necessary precautions.”

“Understood,” with that Harry slipped into his shoes, the weapon holster and threw on a coat. 

He left the house to close the blinds in front of all the windows. His own car had already been parked inside a small garage behind the cottage and locked away last night – the snow, which had fallen over night did a good job of covering any tracks that might have indicated its presence not only here, but all along the road. With a broom, he erased his footsteps in the freshly fallen snow and retreated inside the building to lock up.

He was greeted by the sight of Mycroft, fully dressed, complete with shoes and coat, checking his own gun. They exchanged a knowing look, but then darkness fell over the scene as the door was closed. They would not turn on any lights. The only source of illumination was Harry’s tablet, still showing the satellite picture.

“I am impressed,” Harry nodded. “That was a very good reaction time.”

“Not the first time this happened to me. What’s the status?” Mycroft asked.

“Unidentified vehicle approaching our location. The snow on the road is high. At current speed they should arrive in about five minutes,” Harry double checked the pictures and had Merlin confirm his estimate. “Just enough time to get dressed. Excuse me.”

Harry disappeared into the bedroom and emerged not two minutes later in a combination of jeans, shirt and jumper, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Mycroft, who hadn’t seen the agent wear anything but suits yet.

“Needs must, I suppose,” he commented and eyed Harry from top to bottom, before retreating into the kitchen area, smoothing down his own suit jacket provocatively in the process. The kitchen would be the safest place to take cover should it come to a fight.

“I’ll have you know that these jeans had a part to play in overthrowing the government of Chile,” Harry countered. “Besides, they are easy to move in. Now hush and take cover.”

“Touchy,” Mycroft replied and took advantage of the darkness to freely eye Harry from behind in the snug trousers, as he was turned away from him, wondering just what he had done, wearing those in Chile. His imagination readily supplied a number of unsavory things.

“Galahad, the car has stopped,” Merlin informed the agent. “Concentrate on the mission and stop flirting.”

“Am not!” Harry countered, exasperated, only to realise too late that Mycroft was indeed still in the room. “I mean, can you get a lock on them now that they’re stationary?”

“Exactly what I’m doing right now. Two people have exited the car. They are… wait…”

“Merlin? What is it?”

“They are looking at a map. One of them is shouting at the other. Now they are turning around.”

“That means...?”

“False alarm. Just some directionally challenged tourists,” Merlin sighed. “As you were.”

“Thank you, Merlin.”

“You’re welcome,” the handler answered. “Ah, and... Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care if you shag him into next week, but please, try not to get both of you killed during? It would look rather ugly on my report.”

“I assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Harry said with a voice dripping of false innocence. “But thank you nonetheless.”

“Of course you don’t. Get some sleep, Galahad.”

“Will do. Galahad out.”

“False alarm, I take it?” Mycroft put the gun on the counter and removed his coat, just as Harry pressed the light switch. The agent was treated to the sight of Mycroft in a navy blue waistcoat, which hugged his slender form just so.

“Yes. Just some tourists. Still, better safe than sorry. I’ll go and open the blinds again. Can you put on water for some tea? I’m afraid I won’t be able to go back to sleep like this.”

“Sure,” Mycroft nodded and watched Harry leave the room before starting starting to make himself useful in the kitchen.

When Harry returned, Mycroft was removing the tea bags from the mugs and pushed the correct one towards Harry, who nodded his gratitude. After removing his own coat and replacing boots with slippers, he grabbed the mug and let himself fall back onto the couch, dragging the blanket over his legs.

“It’s freezing out there. Who in their right mind would be out, in the snow, at this ungodly hour?” the agent complained and wrapped his icy fingers around the warm mug, taking only a small sip, as the tea was still scaldingly hot.

Mycroft was still standing in the kitchen behind Harry and eyed the back of his head, where the last snowflakes that had become tangled in his hair were melting. In a surprisingly whimsical gesture, he grabbed a tea towel and leaned over the counter to dry Harry’s hair a little, before the water could drip onto his clothes. Harry tensed for a few seconds, but then closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Thanks,” he said warmly, as Mycroft drew back.

Mycroft cleared his throat and produced a noncommittal humming noise as response. He was glad that Harry had the decency of not turning around, because the realisation of what he just did crept up slowly to the taller man and made the tips of his ears run hot. It had felt like a natural thing to do at the time, but entirely inappropriate when he really thought about it. Mycroft turned towards the fridge to check the breakfast supplies, but really just needed a moment to compose himself.

If he had been able to see Harry’s face, he would not have seen contempt or confusion, but an indulging smile.

“Need any help?” Harry asked, still courteously turned away.

“It’s alright. I had enough time to acquaint myself with the layout. It’ll only be a moment,” Mycroft replied, voice still quieter than before.

“I should be the one to take care of this.”

“Please. This isn’t some hotel,” Mycroft countered.

Harry nodded, closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the backrest of the couch. Mycroft sneaked a look at his relaxed features and smiled to himself, before putting the last items onto a small tray. He stepped around the counter and gingerly placed everything on the low sitting room table. In the process he had to remove the two empty whisky glasses they had used during the last night and brought them into the kitchen.

When he turned back around, he noticed that Harry’s head had slipped to the side, as he had dozed off during the short time. Careful, as to not wake him, Mycroft removed the tea mug from his relaxed fingers and put it onto the table before it could fall over.

And so he was sitting on the couch next to the sleeping form of Harry Hart and found himself unable to move away. In this moment he allowed himself once again to observe Harry’s face in his sleep and take in every little feature, with only a slight regret that his eyes were not open to see the soft brown. Mycroft knew what was happening, and for once he did not want to fight it. From the first moment, he had been fond of Harry, and that was such a singular occurrence, that no matter the consequences, he found himself so content right now, they didn’t matter. He also wouldn’t deny himself a little time of indulgence. Who was he to second-guess fate?

Mycroft sat in silence, head resting on his hand, elbow on the backrest, and stared at the man, who was shifting slightly in his sleep. How long would they have to stay here? A day more? A week? It would be foolish to waste the opportunity, but he didn’t want to sit the rest of the week in a very awkward situation if he’d judged this wrongly. Time for a little test, then. He carefully placed his hand on Harry’s, gave it a little squeeze.

“Harry. Harry…” he said warmly to wake him, earning himself an adorable grunt in response.

Harry shook himself slowly awake, his hand turning under Mycroft’s and giving it a little squeeze in return before he drew back.

“Sorry. I’m getting old. I need my sleep… preferably uninterrupted.”

“Then I apologise…”

“Nonsense,” Harry replied and rubbed his face with both hands.

He sat up and shifted on the cushion, sat forward to take in the items on the table. If he realised that his thigh was touching Mycroft’s, he made no indication of it bothering him. Mycroft smiled to himself as he reached for his tea.

“Anything I forgot?” he asked.

“No, no,” Harry was quick to reassure him. “I usually just have some bread with honey.”

“Good idea,” Mycroft mused and reached for the glass with the golden content.

He purposely let his hand brush past Harry’s as they both reached for the butter at the same time, his intention easily read. Mycroft smiled to himself. He usually wasn’t so forward, but here, in this little isolated place with no one to disturb him, he felt almost playful. Maybe it was the night they had shared, talking comfortably, sprinkling little jokes here and there. Maybe it was the shared background they had, the understanding that he saw in Harry’s eyes. Maybe it had simply been too long since Mycroft had allowed himself any casual contact like this. He didn’t want to think about it too closely. In the end, only one thing counted: Harry was a Kingsman agent, and as such absolutely trustworthy – something that couldn’t really be said about pretty much everyone else he had a fleeting interest in over the years. Mycroft wasn’t as cold and distant as he seemed, he had never been this way, but it was easier to present himself that way. Safer.

Harry hummed amusedly. “Here, let me.”

He reached for the spoon in the honey and drizzled it onto the two slices, taking his time. Mycroft watched the liquid sparkle golden in the low light of the room. The wind was howling outside, but the cottage felt like a little, warm bubble of contentment. His eyes followed the spoon as Harry drew it back and licked the remnants off. Their eyes met as Harry grinned and let the metal linger on his lips. After a pause of a few seconds he placed the spoon on the table and turned back to Mycroft, their legs still touching.

“I wouldn’t be averse to passing the time with something other than polite conversation,” Harry said slowly and placed a hand on Mycroft’s knee.

Mycroft smiled and placed his own hand on top. “That would make it my first enjoyable holiday in years…”

“Never let it be said I’m a bad host.”

“Then you will let me have breakfast first, won’t you?” Mycroft said and raised Harry’s hand to his lips to give his knuckles a kiss.

“I’ll do you one better.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll feed you.”

“My, my…”


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft didn’t know how he ended up in Harry’s arms, licking honey from his fingers, but if he was frank, he actually didn’t care. If there was a less messy way to eat, Harry wasn’t keen on trying it. There was no conversation between them, just soft moans and gasps as they took turns feeding each other little pieces of the breakfast, bodies pressed together, eyes sparkling. It felt whimsical – something that people at least half their age should be doing. Mycroft hadn’t enjoyed the presence of another human in this way in such a long time, and if Harry’s smiles were anything to judge by, he was quite taken with the turn of events as well.

Finally he leaned over and pressed a small kiss to Harry’s cheek.

“I hope you won’t regret this,” he whispered.

Harry shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. As long as you’re sure, I’d love to share this time with you more closely. I have to say that this is unexpected, but not unwelcome.”

“Hmm… I share that sentiment. Go and take a shower, then. Get warmed up and then we’ll see if your bed is big enough for two.”

__________

When Harry emerged from the bathroom and stepped into the sitting room area, hair wet from the shower and still clad in those ridiculously snug jeans, Mycroft felt a sharp spike of lust.

“Take your turn in the bathroom,” Harry said politely and sat down in the armchair, grabbing the tablet from the table in the process. “I need to do another perimeter check.”

“Alright,” Mycroft responded and stood up. 

He hesitated for a few seconds, eyeing Harry’s form openly, now that he had no reason to hide his gaze anymore. A shiver ran down his back just thinking about the way this man, who now sat there so unassumingly, and the potential he had. There was something that he very much enjoyed about this slow revelation, the little dance they had earlier, and the ease and confidence that Harry projected, even now. There was no undue haste.

As if Harry had heard his thoughts, he leaned back in the chair, and returned Mycroft’s gaze. He tensed, but when Harry didn’t say anything, he took the initiative - fully aware that he was currently acting so out of character, anyone who knew him, wouldn’t recognise him at the moment. But he was so removed from everything in his life in that small cottage, he found himself being able to do things he would have thought impossible just days ago. This is one of the reasons I never stray from my path, he though, wistfully.

He took the tablet from Harry’s hands and put it back onto the table. Then he reached out to move his fingers through the damp and tousled hair, which made Harry close his eyes and press his head into Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft smiled to himself while wondering how many honeypot missions this man had successfully completed. If his charm even worked on Mycroft, there could not be many to resist him.

“Still alright? I would hate to ruin the remaining days…” Harry said softly. He had wanted to give Mycroft some space, as the man was definitely the overthinking kind.

“While I’m not usually indulging like this, I believe I am quite comfortable right now. And that in turn – frankly – makes me a bit uncomfortable,” Mycroft admitted. “But I have my own rules to go along to in these situations.”

“Enlighten me.”

“I have so little to enjoy in my life, so if I find something precious, I savour it to the fullest,” and with those words he leaned down to make his mouth find Harry’s, who returned the soft kiss gently. Their lips only met briefly, but Mycroft felt the warm connection down to his toes. “Most of the time it’s simply a fine wine or a spirit, but if you allow me I’d like to indulge in you for the days we have left.”

“If you have so little joy, it would be rather rude of me to deny you this pleasure, wouldn’t it?” Harry smiled, took a hold of Mycroft’s hand and began kissing the sensitive skin. “And after all, you are a guest in my house, no matter the circumstances. I’ll make sure you enjoy your stay.”

With those words, Harry licked along Mycroft’s index finger and sucked it into his mouth unceremoniously. A slight gasp escaped the tall man at the feeling of Harry’s tongue against his skin. He felt his cheeks grow warmer and retracted his hand immediately. With a flush colouring his face, he mumbled something unintelligible and left the room to take a shower himself.

Harry smiled to himself, watching Mycroft retreat. For all his initially detached behaviour and cold exterior, the man he had been tasked with hiding was unexpectedly… charming. Almost cute. If he already reacted so strongly just being teased a little, how would he behave when confronted with gentle teasing in a more… compromising situation? Harry had a feeling he would enjoy the next few days immensely.


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft gently closed the bedroom door behind him and released a shaky breath. A few steps brought him to the bathroom door, which he leaned against for support. His head was turning, which was never a good sign... and also usually beneath him. Forcing himself to inhale deeply, he calmed down a little and sorted his thoughts.

This was okay, he told himself. Harry was confidential, Harry was safe. He was a Kingsman, sworn to secrecy. This was the best possible man to have a small adventure with, really. Harry was here to protect him and had offered him his hospitality frequently and in more ways than one. This was okay.

When Mycroft moved to open the bathroom door, he realised that calming his thoughts had done nothing to calm down other, more excited parts of him. He was acutely aware of his straining erection, bulging the front of his navy blue suit trousers. He didn’t hesitate to palm himself through the fabric and let out a low gasp at the feeling. Right… this would have to be taken care of. For a few seconds he contemplated going back to Harry to resolve the matter in another way, but he still felt a bit self-conscious so he decided against it.

After closing the door behind him he found himself again in a space, which was rather big for a cottage of this size. Mycroft estimated that it might even be as large as the sitting room and kitchen area combined. But not only the size of the bathroom, but also the luxuriously wide bathtub and other additions showed very clearly that Harry loved to indulge here, in his private retreat.

Mycroft was tempted – as he enjoyed long baths himself as a small kind of indulgence – but he opted to step into the shower instead, with its stone flooring and water falling from the ceiling in a way that felt like a strong rainshower. Mycroft quickly rid himself of his clothing, folding it neatly, and turned on the water. The hot spray relaxed his tense muscles immediately and he let himself sink against the wall, which was still cold to the touch.

The big mirror over the sink caught Mycroft’s eye, as he could see himself in it quite clearly still, even though the rising hot water fog already did its best to cloud the view. He looked at himself, straightening up just a bit as he met his own eyes. Pale skin, dotted with freckles, paler for the winter time. A body that was concealed just so by his suits, but showed wear and tear if exposed like this. The reddish skin on his arm, where another attempt on his life, made to look like an accident, had left him with a gashing wound which hadn’t completely healed yet. He patted his own belly a few times, recognising that it had shrunken over the last weeks, but only due to stress. A challenging year. What would Harry think if he saw him like this? Would it be something he liked, or a sobering experience?

Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes, pushing the thoughts out of his head. This wasn’t the time to be so negative. Not with a rather charming spy sitting in the next room. Also, Harry was older than him… and still quite fit. The Kingsman certainly was no fool and knew exactly what he was getting into.

With his thoughts drifting back to Harry, Mycroft let his right hand wander lower, until he found his cock and gave it a few tugs, which made it spring back into life immediately. Mycroft moaned, eyes still closed, hand speeding up. His brilliant mind readily supplied Harry’s face and body in detail, making him support his body with a hand against the wall, as he felt his knees go weak.

“Oh my…”

Mycroft stilled. The words had not come from his mouth, so he opened his eyes cautiously, to find Harry standing in the bathroom door, still fully clothed, but with naked feet. Mycroft stared wide-eyed. He was about to remove his hand, when he saw Harry shake his head.

“Don’t stop, please,” Harry said softly but with heat in his voice. “You are a vision, Mycroft. Please, continue… Let me see?”

Mycroft hesitated some more seconds, but then, slowly, started moving his hand again, eyes almost falling shut as his head fell back. He let out a breathy moan as he gripped himself tighter, feeling his skin run hot because he knew Harry was there. Harry was watching.

“Fuck, yes. Don’t stop,” Harry breathed, and was unable to tear his gaze away from the form of Mycroft, shivering in pleasure right in front of him.

Harry walked over and stepped under the water spray unceremoniously. The liquid soaked his white shirt and the jeans, made his fluffy hair fall in this face again. Mycroft found himself crowded against the wall, Harry’s hands placed on each side of his head, body so close, he felt his hand rub against the fabric of the jeans when he moved it. Harry was so close, so overwhelming, that Mycroft couldn’t have stopped stroking himself if he wanted to. He felt more turned on by the second, couldn’t remember when he had at last felt such a burning desire for any other being. And Harry didn’t even do anything - he was just there, eyes locked with Mycroft’s, looking at him like he wanted to eat him alive.

“Harry…” Mycroft whispered and gasped. It was all he could think and say “Harry…”

The other shivered as he heard his name uttered with breathy lust and leaned his head in to bite down on Mycroft’s neck, who in turn let out a strangled cry, somewhere between pain and pleasure. The feeling went directly between his legs and he felt himself grow closer.

“Oh god, Harry, I’m going to…” Mycroft whispered and grabbed onto Harry’s shirt, clutching the wet fabric in his hand.

Harry took a deep breath to summon up the courage to go a step further and leaned in to first lick along Mycroft’s earshell, then brought his lips closer. He knew he was taking a risk, but Mycroft was responding so beautifully and he had him right here, shivering and holding on for dear life.

“You will only come when I tell you to,” he whispered into Mycroft’s ear, who immediately went weak in the knees and grabbed at Harry for further support. The whimper he let out told Harry that his gamble had paid off.

“Yes…” Mycroft said tensely, with huge concentration, as he instinctively knew he wasn’t allowed to stop his hand either. “But I can’t… Not for long…”

“Are you sure?” Harry bit the junction of the taller man’s neck and shoulder, who in turn hissed his approval. “I think you want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Mycroft shuddered. What good fortune had brought this man into his life? Tears formed in Mycroft’s eyes from the sheer willpower that kept him from disappointing the man, whose approval he suddenly so very much craved.

“I want to be good. I just don’t know… if I can…”

“Let me help you, then,” Harry’s face took on a wolfish grin against Mycroft’s skin, as he moved his left hand down to remove Mycroft’s. He stroked a few times, then stilled, simply held him close. “Is that better?”

Mycroft’s knees almost buckled. This was too much. It was maddening. It was perfect. He exhaled shakily, but only got a moment of reprieve. Harry started moving again to produce more pleasurable agony. Mycroft melted against Harry’s body, now effectively propped up on the other man’s knee, legs spread apart, still clutching the fabric of the shirt to steady himself. He buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and breathed loudly, deeply.

Harry looked down over Mycroft’s back. He couldn’t refrain from reaching around and touch his behind, kneading the flesh with his free hand, never letting up the pressure with the other one. Mycroft was too far gone, crying and whimpering into Harry’s shoulder while simultaneously pressing himself into the offered hand. Harry took the invitation and let his fingers wander to the center, moving along the crack, ghosting over Mycroft’s hole. The younger man moaned at the sensation and started rutting against Harry’s leg as a response.

Harry smiled to himself and leaned in to find Mycroft’s ear again. “You may come,” he whispered, just as he pressed one finger past the ring of muscles. Mycroft came with a shout, tears running down his face, as he emptied himself on Harry’s wet shirt, repeating his name over and over again.

“So good, so very good for me, Mycroft,” Harry said soothingly, which made Mycroft almost sob with relief. “You’re doing so well…”

Harry had to carefully lower him to the shower floor, as it was impossible to keep the shivering man standing at the moment, and he kneeled before him, gently catching Mycroft’s lips in a kiss, while he was still going through gentle aftershocks. Mycroft took in ragged breaths, as Harry leaned in to kiss the tears from his eyes. Harry brought his cum-stained fingers to his lips and licked the parts clean that the water hadn’t reached. Mycroft’s cock gave a valiant twitch at the sight and would have gotten hard again, if such a thing had been possible. Harry reached out and held Mycroft’s head carefully in his hands.

“You gorgeous, perfect man,” he said reverently. “Please say you’ll let me take you to bed.”

Mycroft looked at Harry in front of him, who looked at him in turn as if he was a god-sent wonder. Even though he had just gone through a spectacular orgasm, the fire that he felt when looking at Harry was far from extinguished.

“Yes…” Mycroft said softly and pulled Harry in for another kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

After getting rid of his wet clothes Harry stepped back into the shower and helped Mycroft to his feet, who had enjoyed the show of skin being revealed bit by bit. Though the wet cloth clinging to Harry’s body had its own appeal, in a way. The two shared a long, lingering kiss, entangled under the water stream, letting their hands wander and explore the other’s body. There was no heat in their actions, no hurry - just the luxury of indulging in another person’s body freely. Harry was nothing if not a gentleman. So when he finally drew back, he grabbed his bottle of shampoo and started massaging Mycroft’s head, who in turn let out a sigh of contentment, molding himself against Harry’s body.

“What did I do to deserve this?” Mycroft mumbled and pressed a kiss against Harry’s collarbone while placing both hands on the man’s back to draw him in closer. “This must be a dream. Two days ago I was running for my life, and now…”

“Sssh, just let it be,” Harry smiled and in turn kissed Mycroft’s forehead gently. “Believe me, I’m very much enjoying myself right now, so don’t think anything of it. I haven’t shared my personal time like this with anyone in a long time, so this is as much a singular occurrence for me as it is for you. Thank you for letting me indulge in you like this.”

Mycroft groaned as Harry’s fingers wandered lower and massaged his neck and shoulders with sure movements, making muscles melt and elicited sweet sounds from the receiver. The proximity of their bodies and the sounds produced through the intimate contact made both men grow hard slowly, their erections trapped between their bodies, rubbing against each other. But both ignored the growing need, just enjoyed the feeling of frotting against each other, the pleasurable feeling washing over them with every move.

They stayed like that until Harry moved his hands lower still and, without warning, pressed Mycroft back against the wall in one fluid movement. Mycroft had the air pushed out of him in a cut-off moan and dug his fingernails into Harry’s back as a response to the rougher treatment, but the way he grew even harder against the other man showed that it was not a complaint, but rather a very enthusiastic encouragement. Mycroft revelled in the way Harry’s body moved with precision and power, showing off his strength and training.

“You are delicious,” Harry said, his voice rough, while nibbling at Mycroft’s jawline, making him throw his head back and seeking friction between their bodies. “So responsive, so lovely. You must have someone to appreciate all of you.”

The longer Mycroft was exposed to Harry’s actions and words, the harder it was for him to form any coherent thought. It was like something in him had just switched off all his caution, slowly giving himself over to this man, who pushed any and all of his buttons so brutally and nicely. Mycroft knew it wouldn’t be long before he would sink to his knees before Harry and ask him to do just as he pleases. He wondered if it was wrong to do it now.

“No, there is no one…” Mycroft managed to say between deep breaths. “Nothing that would… compromise me… no one to trust…”

Harry knew better than to press the matter right now, and it wasn’t his place anyway. He chose an alternative, which he now knew would distract Mycroft enough to lose this train of thought completely: Bite the lovely, freckled skin of his neck again, hard enough to make the man cry out and almost lose his balance. At the same time, he snuck a hand between their bodies and enclosed both of their erections simultaneously. At the pressure he had to moan himself, just as Mycroft did, and he proceeded to move his hand quickly up and down their joined cocks.

“Harry…” Mycroft gasped and found the other man’s lips in a heated kiss. It was messy and ungraceful, but they clung to each other nonetheless, everything else forgotten. Mycroft’s hand joined Harry’s in their endeavour and they both breathed loudly, muttering the other’s name, giving themselves over to the pleasure.

Then Mycroft tensed and with a shaky breath emptied himself over their joined hands, shaking as he did and uttering a quiet curse. The feeling of Mycroft pulsing in his hand pushed Harry over as well, and his release joined Mycroft’s on their hands.

Without waiting for any of them to catch their breaths, he raised his stained fingers to Mycroft’s mouth, who in turn started to lick them clean, eyes half-closed, still in a haze, tongue darting out to lap at the skin lazily. Harry took a moment to admire the man in front of him, who had in such a short amount of time, given him so much trust. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards Mycroft that went way beyond his professional calling.

Harry drew Mycroft into his embrace and took care of removing all suds still left on their bodies before turning off the water and wrapping a towel around the other man’s shoulders. They dried off in silence, Harry taking care of his wet clothes first before retreating into the bedroom. Mycroft took a bit more time to collect his thoughts while Harry was out of sight.

He just couldn’t believe what the spy was doing to him. There was no way he should have been able to come twice in such a short amount of time, not after years of dispassionately taking care of himself only out of necessity. The last time Mycroft had wanted a person so badly, it had ended equally badly, and he had sworn to himself never to get involved again – not that his position would allow for any such thing. But Harry… Harry was different. He was a Kingsman, and Mycroft would trust most of them with his life in any situation.

Mycroft found the man sitting, cross legged on the bed, clad in only a shirt that hung loosely off his shoulders, welcoming him with a warm smile. Mycroft walked over and sat down, returning the smile in kind.

“It seems like the coast is still clear,” Harry said and pointed at the tablet on the night table. “No sign of any intruders. In fact, all of our marks in London are staying put.”

“Thank you for being vigilant.”

“You are quite welcome. Your well-being is my job, after all,” Harry replied. “Now, why don’t we finally test if this is big enough for us two?”

Mycroft leaned over and caressed Harry’s cheek with his fingers before stealing a kiss from his waiting lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

\-------------

Sharing a bed with another person was something that Mycroft thought he’d somehow unlearned. In the end it turned out to be quite easy to simply be held close and drift off in that comfortable warmth. When he woke, it was the middle of the day. It felt indulgent in a way that even the sex hadn’t. He smiled to himself. Maybe holidays weren’t such a bad idea after all. As Mycroft stretched, he felt a certain ache down below, but it wasn’t actually painful – just a nice reminder of Harry pushing into him from behind, pressing him down into the bedding. The man was a forceful, but considerate lover. Mycroft found himself quite taken by him already.

“Good morning,” Harry mumbled, voice rough from sleep, head resting on Mycroft’s chest.

“Good afternoon, I’d say,” Mycroft replied. “It’s almost three.”

“It’s dark enough to be midnight. The storm must’ve picked up again. Too bad. The area is quite lovely when the sun shows itself.”

“I’m not allowed to go outside anyway. This suits me just fine.”

Harry hummed and reached for his tablet. “No changes,” he said after swiping through several messages. “Your assistant is inquiring about your status. What should I reply?”

Mycroft contemplated this for a moment. “White canary.”

“Very well,” Harry replied and typed in the response. “Now, how do we want to pass the rest of the day?”

“I thought you might make yourself useful and brew me some coffee while I pick out a book.”

“Bossy…” Harry mumbled and turned his head so that he could lick across Mycroft’s nipple. The resulting jolt was welcomed with a chuckle and a little bite. He sneaked his hand lower and palmed Mycroft through the blanket. “I can do that, but maybe in half an hour?”

Mycroft laughed softly. “Insatiable.”

“Some parts of you aren’t complaining.”

“None of me is. Get on with it, then.”

\-------------

“What did you pick?” Harry asked as he put down the coffee cup.

“Your taste in literature is abysmal, dear Harry,” Mycroft tutted and held up the book to show him the cover. “A whole shelf just for the Dragonriders of Pern?”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

“I’m trying it right now…”

Harry grinned and picked a later novel from the long series off the shelf. “Looking forward to hearing your opinion.”

\-------------

Mycroft hadn’t been aware he had fallen asleep in Harry’s arms until the body underneath shifted a bit. He blinked into the darkness, the only noises audible were Harry’s gentle breathing and the wind, which had died down, but was still present. He instinctively cuddled up to the wam body beside him on the couch, put his arms around him, head buried in Harry’s neck. He sighed as two arms closed around him in turn.

“Not as suspenseful as you would’ve liked?” Harry asked in a murmur.

“That’s not it,” Mycroft responded equally as soft. “You’re just too comfortable.”

“So you take your comment about my taste back?”

“Not entirely…” Mycroft mumbled and bit playfully into Harry’s neck, who responded with a huff of laughter.

“Bastard…” he said, affectionately.

“What is this, Harry?” Mycroft asked and pressed himself closer to the man. “What is all of this?”

“This is both of us getting the holiday we deserve and enjoying it to the fullest. It doesn’t have to be more than that.”

Mycroft swallowed, his heart beating fast. “What if I want it to be more than that by the time we have to leave?”

“Then I’ll take you home with me, show you my collection of butterflies and you’ll have another chance to decide.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh. It was all just too easy, too comfortable. Could it really be that such a chance encounter could lead to something so wonderful? Could fate have directed this gorgeous man into his arms?

“Alright, I accept your terms. But for now…” Mycroft whispered and licked along Harry’s jaw. “I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Harry looked down at him, his face half hidden in darkness, and surged forward to capture Mycroft’s lips in a heated kiss. They both moaned with enthusiasm and Mycroft pushed Harry back, so that he could straddle his hips on the couch, hands buried in his fluffy hair, which he hadn’t bothered to style at all that day. Harry pushed his hips up, erection digging into Mycroft’s own, and they both groaned at the friction, frotting against each other for a while, until they were panting, cheeks red, almost overheating already.

“Is that a yes?” Mycroft asked.

“Fuck yes,” Harry replied. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a tube of lube, which he pressed into Mycroft’s hands.

“Impossible,” Mycroft said, but it lacked any real conviction.

Clothes were removed in record time, both of them just in their t-shirts to fight off the colder night air. Mycroft sat back between Harry’s legs, which he draped over his thighs and pushed them open. Harry had put his arms up, hands digging into the fabric of the couch behind his head, as he offered himself up, erection curling upwards towards his stomach. Mycroft grabbed it with one hand and stroked him slowly while pushing in with two fingers below.

For a while the only sounds one could hear were Harry’s laboured breathing and shameless moans as Mycroft teased him open, and the breathless chuckles when he brushed over his prostate. The storm had passed and the moon had come out from behind the cloud cover, letting its bright light shine through the windows directly on Harry’s body, which looked like a living statue made from silver, quivering in Mycroft’s hands.

“Beautiful…” he whispered and lined himself up, pushed in, slow and steady, never stopping.

Harry looked up to see Mycroft framed by his legs, chest heaving, a wild look in his eyes. He was evidently trying to keep it together, get used to the feeling, and give Harry some moments to do the same.

“Fuck me,” he said and moved himself towards Mycroft, pushing him even deeper.

Mycroft groaned and reached for Harry’s ankles to hold them up, angled himself differently and gave a small push that made Harry curse.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said with a grin.

Then he heard the sound of glass being broken in the bedroom.


	10. Chapter 10

Short reaction times in the worst of situations were bred into both men. So it was no wonder that both of them separated instantly, grabbed their clothes with both arms and threw themselves into the kitchen area, which had only a narrow entrance and was protected by stone walls. Mycroft cursed under his breath as he tried to stay low and he hastily drew on the most basic of clothes – most importantly his shoes. When he had finished, he looked at Harry, who had dressed before him and now took the safety off his gun.

“Someone broke in through the bedroom window. What the hell, Merlin?” he hissed into his glasses. “Weren’t you supposed to be an early warning system?”

It was then that Mycroft realised that they had dressed in each other’s shirts.

“I remember telling you not to get killed while you fuck each other’s brains out,” Merlin said into his ear. “Give me a second here.”

“You were listening?”

Mycroft’s eyes widened a fraction. His hands flexed uselessly. He had left his own weapon in its case in the bedroom – the very room that was now possibly compromised. He exchanged a glance with Harry.

“Of course I wasn’t. But the state of you both, just after the video connected, didn’t leave much to the imagination,” Merlin said dryly. “Our tracked marks are still in London. We haven’t heard any chatter that would indicate they found Mr Holmes’ trail.”

“You stay here,” Harry said to Mycroft. “I’ll see if it was just the wind.”

Mycroft nodded. There was no need to tell the other to be careful. Still, his heart did a little clench as Harry started moving. Then Harry turned back and bestowed a fleeting kiss on Mycroft, a tentative brush of their lips. Mycroft had to smile.

“He’s quite pretty when he blushes,” Merlin commented. “If I tell Arthur that I’ve seen Mycroft Holmes smile, he’ll never believe me.”

“Keep this to yourself and most of all keep quiet now,” Harry whispered as he turned.

Mycroft watched Harry stick to the wall as he moved slowly, noiselessly towards the bedroom. After one last glance back, Harry kicked open the door and jumped into the room, arms outstretched, gun first. He shouted something loudly and Mycroft heard a frightened scream in response. 

His first reaction was a shocked spike of adrenaline. There really was someone else in the cottage. Someone who had tracked him here. His second reaction was one of confusion. Something was off. Very off. Something–

“Mycroft!” a voice yelled loudly – a voice Mycroft would recognise anywhere on the planet.

“Oh shit,” he said to himself and propelled his body towards the bedroom. “Harry! Harry don’t shoot! Harry, please!”

The scene that welcomed him was fearful and absurd at the same time. Harry had pushed a man to the floor, pistol trained on the back of his head, knee in the small of his back. The man was dressed almost completely in black, with a long coat and a blue scarf. His curls were wet with melting snow. Behind them a flurry of snowflakes whirled in through the broken window.

“Harry, get up,” Mycroft said and fell to his knees beside him. “Please, don’t harm him.”

“Mycroft?” Harry asked confusedly, not yet moving. “What’s the meaning of this? Get back to–”

“Harry, he’s my brother. Sherlock. He’s not here to kill me.”

“I’m thinking about it now,” Sherlock mumbled, his face buried in the carpet.

“Oh for the love of all that is holy, shut your mouth, brother,” Mycroft hissed.

Harry reluctantly let up, stepped back so that Sherlock could push himself off the floor. He groaned and rubbed his face as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. As he looked up, Mycroft could see that he had received quite a blow to his forehead, which was already red and blue. In that moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Harry still hadn’t lowered his gun.

“Merlin?” he asked.

“Face recognition confirms Mr Holmes’ claim. The man is Sherlock Holmes, his younger brother. But our system says he’s still in London…”

Harry relayed the message to Sherlock, who only laughed.

“Of course I’m still officially in London. Mycroft here has received a threat to his life and disappears not six hours later. Do you think I’d investigate while broadcasting my position for everyone to see? I’m not an amateur,” Sherlock rebutted.

“How did you find us here?” Harry asked, gun now lowered, but not put away.

“With great difficulty,” he admitted. “I didn’t know about the Kingsman before, but now I do. How many other secret organisations have you tried out for, Mycroft?”

“Just two more,” Mycroft replied.

“And tell me, how many more agents are you shagging when you’re supposedly hiding from assassins? An advance warning would be nice, so I don’t waste my time tracking through the snow, only to interrupt you when you’ve so clearly been fucking.”

“Sherlock…” Mycroft said, both weary and exasperated at the same time. “I’ll make sure you’re on the list of people to be informed if anything like this threat should happen again.”

Sherlock just looked away and nodded. It would possibly seem rude to anyone who didn’t know him, but the lack of talkback showed Mycroft how much this meant to him.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” he said earnestly. “But, please don’t get yourself killed.”

“Tell that to your agent boyfriend.”

“Harry is not my boyfriend. I didn’t even know him a few days ago.”

“I didn’t think you were that easy,” Sherlock said with a sneer and stood up from the bed to walk out of the room. “Now I’m going to have a coffee. I’m freezing. And someone should really fix that window.”

Harry stepped forward with a snarl on his face, but Mycroft quickly held him back. He gently took the gun from Harry’s fingers and placed it on the nightstand, then brought both hands up to Harry’s face. As their eyes met, Mycroft kissed him, slow and lingering

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said as they parted. “Your brother tricked Kingsman surveillance, tracked you down, evaded satellite tracking and broke into this house all on his own?”

“We should recruit him,” Merlin said into his ear.

“I’m afraid he fancies himself some sort of detective,” Mycroft replied.

“One hell of a detective,” Harry mumbled.

“I heard that!” Sherlock shouted from the next room.

“One hell of menace, who will have to stay with us until this is resolved,” Mycroft said. “We can’t send him back while he is possibly still monitored.”

“Fuck, you’re right. So much for our holiday…” Harry sighed. “Let me just close the blinds from the outside. There are a few blankets in the cupboard you can use to fill the opening from the inside. Luckily the window isn’t all that big…”

“Alright, thank you.”

“And then take a shower. I’ll join you shortly.”

“And Sherlock?” Mycroft wondered.

“Can live half an hour on his own. I don’t really care if he knows what goes on in my bathroom.”

Mycroft hummed amusedly. This was a sentiment he could get behind. He sneaked a hand around Harry and squeezed his bottom.

“I’d very much like to finish what I’ve started.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Mycroft had covered the window quickly, and brushed together the glass shards to dispose of them. Sherlock stood in the kitchen with a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. His coat was discarded over the back of the armchair, and not on the couch that still showed the evidence of their earlier tryst. Mycroft had to smile despite himself.

“If you’ll excuse me for a while, I have to clean myself up…” he said as he put the broom back into the corner.

“While one should think that it would go faster with more hands, I don’t believe that’s quite applicable in this situation. Shall I expect you back in two hours, then?”

“Sherlock, I meant what I said. I’m really grateful that you’d go to such lengths for me,” Mycroft said earnestly and put a hand on his brother’s arm.

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds, then looked down into his cup. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

Mycroft just nodded. He collected the still distributed clothing items in silence, pocketed the lube and retreated to the bedroom. The air inside was still cold, but the blankets seemed to hold back most of the chill for now. With a sigh he dropped the items onto the bed, before closing the door behind him. He then quickly retreated into the bath, which was still reasonably heated and shed his own clothes to step under the stream.

He could relax for all but three seconds, before he felt cold metal press into his back.


End file.
